Metropolitan Tomfoolery
by Twinings
Summary: When in Rome...grab a fiddle and watch it burn. -CAT-
1. Boy Scout in the Big City

_Disclaimer: Make pwnage, not ownage._

_Or something clever. Cut me some slack here._

_This is a CATfic, based on an idea (and extensive notes) by TheNoblePorpoise. Please forgive any suckness in the execution; I'm having a bit of trouble with one particular scene. Expect delays, with my apologies._

_Visit the spiffed-up website at www. freewebs. com/ catverse. This fic takes place during the Arc of Death, after "So Long and Thanks" and before BiteMeTechie's "Charity Begins at Home."_

* * *

Metropolitan Tomfoolery

Metropolis was such a beautiful city. It was like Gotham, without all the dark.

Al pretty much hated it from the moment its skyline appeared through the windshield of the VW bus. Maybe it had something to do with the blinding early-morning sunlight in her eyes. (She and the sun had never gotten along.) Maybe it was the fact that, though bright and clean, Metropolis still looked like a city. (How she had survived so well in Gotham, she would never know, because she _needed_ trees.) Maybe it was because the _last_ time she had gone to Metropolis, she had been bored out of her mind—the worst possible excuse for going out of one's mind, in her opinion.

Or maybe it was just because Superman lived there.

Al couldn't really explain her vehement dislike of the cape-wearing boy scout. As a hero, he was certainly effective, and allying herself with the "bad guys" hadn't lessened her ability to appreciate a job well done. He had never done anything to her, personally, or to anyone she cared about, and if he ever took it upon himself to put a stop to the Scarecrow's shenanigans, she could imagine that he would go about it a lot more gently than Batman. (Of _course_ Al judged all her enemies by how much they were willing to hurt the Squish.)

Ironically, she actually liked Batman—though very much from afar. At least he wasn't so deadly dull. She didn't know how Superman managed not to bore his enemies into a coma before they ever started throwing punches, or lasers, or whatever weapon was their gimmick of the day.

Honestly, she had met roadkill with more sparkling personality.

Needless to say, she wasn't looking forward to seeing him. But if she did, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

And if they ended up staying for any significant length of time, he was going to come after them. Al and her friends had big plans for this town.

Just because they were dead didn't mean they had to stop having fun.


	2. Pantywaist at the Daily Planet

_Author's note: Special thanks to everyone who was all helpful and spiffy while my Lappy was in the computer hospital. I'm back and life is grand!_

* * *

That Friday was a slow day at the Daily Planet. There were no murders, no meteors, no monsters or mad scientists. There were no major threats to the city at all.

Clark Kent was more than a little bored. Not that he really minded; as far as he was concerned, the less work there was for Superman to do, the better. Lois wasn't going to be happy, though. She lived for the dangerous assignments, the high profile stories, the chance to meet Superman.

The woman had a death wish. She would have gotten herself killed twenty times over with all her thrillseeking, if Superman hadn't set himself up as her personal protector.

Clark couldn't help being attracted to Lois. Her brash personality was utterly unlike either the mild-mannered Clark Kent or the morally grounded, by the book Superman, but it had caught his attention, and held it, when most women on Earth simply weren't strong enough to bear consideration as part of an equal partnership. Lois was. Not physically, of course, but she had the spirit to make up for her inherent human frailty. She was a beautiful woman, without a doubt, but even if she hadn't been, her presence would have been enough to draw all eyes to her, whether those eyes were nearsighted or endowed with x-ray vision. Even just the sound of her voice…

Come to think of it, why wasn't he hearing her voice? It should have reached his ears long before he passed through the Planet's new plexiglass doors, raised in snappish complaint about the invisible shackles holding her to her desk, demanding to know how many Ps there were in "rapist," or picking on one of the interns out of sheer boredom. But though he heard all the usual sounds of activity in the busy newspaper office…no Lois. Could she have actually found a story worth her time? He hadn't noticed anything dreadfully wrong, but things had slipped by him a time or two before.

If Lois were in trouble, there would be more of a sense of panic in the building. So, either she had left willingly, or she hadn't yet been missed.

It was all right. He should still be able to find her. If she was anywhere in the city, his super hearing could pick her out.

Unless she could manage to go a considerable length of time without talking, which didn't seem too likely. And yet, extending his senses as he stepped into the elevator, he still couldn't find her.

That was…worrisome.

He walked out into the busy newsroom, and was greeted by a few colleagues who seemed harried, but not upset about anything in particular. He scanned the room, craning his neck as if he didn't have x-ray vision.

"Mr. Kent?"

He made a small show of being startled by the intern who had walked up behind him. She was new to the staff, a moderately talented photographer whose greatest asset seemed to be her ability to fade into the background of everyone's consciousness. That had allowed her to get a few nigh-impossible shots. It also tended to result in nearly everyone being startled out of their skins when she came up behind them.

He groped for a name, and found that he couldn't be sure he had come up with the right one.

"Yes, Barbara?" She didn't look offended, so he could only assume he had gotten it right.

"I have…kind of an embarrassing question." She shrugged as if to say, _Well, what can you do?_

"There's no need to be embarrassed. I'd be glad to help you any way I can." She gave him another embarrassed smile and a little shrug.

"Okay, well…how do you people go about contacting Superman?"

"Superman?" he repeated. She nodded.

"With the big S." Clark chuckled.

"I know who he _is_. I'm just wondering why you want him."

"Well, it's not like I want his autograph or anything." She was blushing, uncomfortable with the idea of being thought of as the touristy type. "Ms. Lane's phone was ringing, and I thought I'd answer it and take a message. There was some woman on the other end who called herself Q and told me to send Superman to meet her."

"Where?" She gave him an odd look.

"Does it matter? She wanted Superman, not you."

"Just wondering about the story potential," he said vaguely. Barbara perked up.

"You're right. Maybe I should go for the scoop. What do you say, Kent? You and me?"

Oh, great. Another Lois. He could practically hear her calling him a pantywaist.

"Listen, Barbara, you're new to Metropolis, so I'll give you some free advice. It's not a good idea to get mixed up in Superman's business."

She looked disappointed. He hoped he hadn't just inadvertently encouraged her to go haring off after the story on her own.

"Okay…but how do I tell Superman what's up? He doesn't exactly have a signal in the sky." Ah, so she was a Batman fan. He wondered idly if she had ever met Barbara Gordon.

"You could try calling him," he said flippantly.

Now she was officially irritated.

"What, from the rooftop?" Clark grinned. "Oh, thanks, Mr. Kent." She turned and walked away from him. When she got out of human earshot, he distinctly heard her mutter, "Pantywaist."

--

Barbara was standing up on the roof, calling, "Superman?" in the most embarrassed tones possible when he showed up, hovering in the air a few feet above her head.

"Good afternoon, miss," he said in that particular booming voice that never failed to inspire patriotism in the hearts of all red-blooded Americans.

She snickered at him.

"How many kinds of knots can you tie?" she muttered, apparently unaware of just how sensitive his hearing was.

He just smiled at her.

"Is there something I can help you with?" She gave him an appraising look.

"Maybe. I'm sure you know the expression, 'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.'" Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Superman landed in front of the photographer. She really was just like Lois, if she thought she could coerce him into granting her an interview that would spell her big break.

Briefly, he wondered how good Barbara's spelling skills were. It was amazing that Lois had chosen to be a professional writer, much less done so well at it; he knew for a fact she couldn't see the difference between break and brake.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Sure, of course you don't. Look, I have a message for you. Do you want it, or not?"

"By all means," he said in his most magnanimous superhero voice. She seemed torn between irritation and amusement.

"Great. Thanks so much for your permission." He just waited for her to continue. No sense picking a fight. "Okay, here's the deal. There was a phone call. I answered. Lucky me, right? Someone's got your girlfriend. One of them wants to meet with you. Sound good so far?"

"Why does he want to meet me?"

"How should I know? To negotiate, I guess. I mean, it's probably not to get your autograph." She glared at him, seriously annoyed. "Besides, it was a woman. She wanted me to call her Q."

"Like in James Bond?"

Barbara rolled her eyes.

"Probably not, Superman. That Q never kidnapped Pussy Galore."

It wasn't easy to make a Kryptonian blush as a reflex action, although as Clark Kent he often purposely utilized the effect when he needed to be especially Smallville. But the casual way she said the phrase, as if she didn't even know what it really meant, made his cheeks flame. And she noticed.

She did seem to be trying not to laugh at him, and she managed to look more as if she thought he was funny than that he was an idiot.

"Okay, spitcurl, I'll go easy on you. God, you're as bad as that Kent guy. This Q woman wants you to meet her, right? So I'll tell you where, but only on one condition."

"You want me to take you with me," he said wearily. Barbara blinked twice.

"How'd you know?"

"You and Ms. Lane have a very similar work ethic. Should I assume you won't take no for an answer?" She nodded grimly. "All right, then." He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Where are we going?"

"Oh," she squeaked. "You mean, we're just going to…jump off the roof?"

"We're going to fly, yes," he answered. "I'm willing to do what it takes to keep Lois safe. That doesn't extend to putting you in danger, though, so I expect you to listen to me, and stay out of the way if there's any trouble. I understand that you want to do your job, but that camera has a zoom lens for a reason. Understood?"

She gasped and clung to him when she realized that her feet were no longer attached to anything solid.

"Anything you say, sir. Just don't drop me."

He laughed.

"I'm Superman."

"Yeah. Sorry. Forgot." She pressed her face against his chest—to avoid having to look at the ground, he thought, until he heard her murmur, "You smell like Gain."

Oh…this was going to be a very long day.


	3. Cardboard Cutout at Cock of the Walk

Any place called Suicide Slum was obviously no place for a lady. Superman may have had his doubts as to whether or not that title applied to Barbara, but he had no intention of letting her out of his sight while they were there.

If there was one thing he had learned over the years working with—and rescuing—Lois, it was that with a stubborn girl reporter, warning her away could just make her more eager to prove she could handle it, even in the face of danger no sane human would brave.

And this one was not sane. She seemed almost gleeful as she pointed out the bar where he was intended to meet his new enemy.

It was…not what he had expected.

Barbara pulled away from him the moment her feet touched the ground.

"That was _terrifying_!" She grinned. "Can we do it again?"

"No. Are you sure you don't want to go back?" She clutched her camera protectively.

"And miss the scoop of the century?"

He would hardly have called it that. Lois Lane covered nearly all of Superman's adventures, and what she didn't catch, Clark Kent did. It wasn't as if she were being allowed to follow someone as secretive as Batman. Still, her first Superman story was bound to be exciting for her.

"Stay close," he said. She rolled her eyes like a petulant child, but followed him inside.

Q wasn't at all difficult to find, being the only woman there. She was sitting at the bar with a shot glass full of something green in front of her, though she hadn't removed her heavy mask to drink it, tapping her fingers against the bar as she watched a couple of young men dance. They, along with nearly everyone else, went very still when they saw who was in the doorway. Only when the boys had stopped moving did Q look up and wave.

"Is this a bust?" someone whispered. That started an uneasy murmur circulating through the room. Superman tried to ignore it as he scanned the woman at the bar.

Clever. Her suit was laced with lead, not enough to make it impossible to move, but enough to prevent him from discovering her true identity. He moved to her side as quickly as possible, trying to avoid any unnecessary contact with the bar's other patrons.

"Q?"

"In the flesh, as far as you can tell." Her voice was disguised by some kind of electronic scrambler, turning her sarcastic laugh into nothing more than a burst of static. "Sit down, Supes. Have a drink. It's Kryptonite." All he could do was raise an eyebrow.

"Vodka, Blue Curacao, and Mountain Dew?"

"What, do you have liquor vision, too?"

Behind him, Barbara burst out laughing.

"Liquor…liquor vision," she gasped between hysterical giggles, holding on to the doorframe for support. Q hesitated for a moment.

"Who's that? You were supposed to come alone."

"She's nothing," Superman said firmly. "Paparazzi. They're everywhere. This has nothing to do with her. It's between you and me. Where is Lois Lane?"

Q hesitataed for a moment, watching the laughing photographer. Then she gave a little shake of her head and turned her attention back to him.

"Metropolis." He waited. "What? You asked. I answered. What more do you want from me?"

"Specifics. Please."

She gave him another staticky laugh.

"All right, all right. Mxyface was right. You are fun to mess with."

Superman lost his affable farmboy smile.

"You're in league with Mr. Mxyzptlk?"

"'In league with'—how very uptight of you. No, I only met the guy once; my associates and I are doing this on our own."

"Your associates?"

"Well, duh. Who do you think is keeping an eye on your Ms. Lane? Don't worry. She's alive and well. If you're good at following directions, you'll get her back at the end of the day. And all you have to do is keep me entertained. I know you don't have much experience in that area, but you could still give it a try. Couldn't you?"

Superman was actually torn between smiling and taking a swing at her.

"Is Lois all right?"

"I said she was, didn't I?"

"No, actually you didn't."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Well, I meant to. Your girlfriend's fine, Big Blue. I give you my word as a Spaniard."

"I somehow doubt you're Spanish, miss." She seemed disappointed by that. "What do you want from me?"

"I told you, you big dope. Entertainment. I want to see the sights and sounds of Metropolis, and I want _you_ to be the one to show it to me."

Well, it wasn't the strangest request he'd ever gotten.

"This isn't going to end with us getting married, is it?"

Q recoiled.

"God, no! You think I want to be shackled to a cardboard cutout for the rest of my life?" Superman frowned.

"It never hurts to make sure. That's happened before, you know."

Q burst out laughing.

"No way! Seriously? I know there are a lot of crazy supervillains out there, but that's just ridiculous."

"Aw, I think he's cute," said Barbara. She raised her camera to snap a picture of the two of them. "If you're into that kind of thing."

"I don't like men with too many muscles," said Q.

"But he carries the Charles Atlas seal of approval."

"Ladies?" Superman interjected.

"I like her," said Q. "Who is she, again?"

"Oh, sorry. Barbara Reilly, photographer, _Daily Planet_. Just keeping track of a few important events for the sake of posterity. I'd like to keep documenting Superman, if that's cool with you."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Superman said quickly.

"I do," said Q. "I _like_ her. She'll keep this from getting boring. Besides, aren't you supposed to stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way? And doesn't the American Way include freedom of the press?"

Barbara grinned and snapped another picture.

"All right," Superman said, against his better judgment. "Where are we going?"

"Well, the truth is, I've always wanted to go to a vampire club."

He blinked.

"A what?" Barbara choked on a laugh.

"There's one right across the street," Q said innocently. "Make it everything I ever dreamed, and I'll take you to Lois when we're done."

It felt like a mistake, but what could he do but agree?

* * *

_This chapter has been brought to you by Checkerboards. "When your laptop breaks, we can't fix it. But we'll do the next best thing!"_


	4. Cattle at the Sanctum

Planet Earth wasn't perfect, but it did have its selling points. There was art, there was culture, and there was music. Clark Kent had grown up listening to the same music his parents liked, the kind of old-fashioned things that marked him as a dork even in Smallville, Kansas. He also had vague memories of the achingly beautiful music of Krypton.

Neither bore any resemblance to the noise currently grating against his ears.

One unfortunate side effect of super-hearing was the ability to distinguish between tones far more precisely than any normal human. Bad music could be downright painful, and extremely difficult to block out.

On top of the obnoxiousness of the music, and the lyrics so moody as to be laughable, there was the clientele…He didn't see a single person over the age of twenty, not that anyone seemed to be drinking alcohol. They were all wearing black cloaks and thick layers of bone white makeup, black lipstick, plastic fangs. He could hear them calling each other dramatic names like Raven and Lord Darkheim. A few of them tried not to grimace as they sipped on cups of warm pigs' blood.

And every single one of them was looking at him as if _he_ were the crazy one.

Q went circulating through the crowd, and returned with a pale, pouting shadow of a girl dressed like Morticia Addams.

"Talk," Q ordered, and gave the girl a shove. She stumbled forward. Superman caught her. Barbara took a picture. He began to realize just what he was getting into.

The girl jerked her arm out of his steadying grip and gave him a haughty glare.

"What are you doing in _our_ sanctum, cattle?"

The professional journalist in him winced at the misuse of the plural.

"I wasn't aware this was private property."

She bared her filed-sharp teeth at him.

"Your kind isn't welcome here."

"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms, seeing the parallels between this human girl and a dozen space princesses and pseudo-mystics who had tried to intimidate him by waving their magic jangly-sticks. "And why is that, exactly?"

Another flash burst out of Barbara's camera. He wondered why no one was objecting to _her_ presence. Other than having gone a little heavy on the eyeliner, she looked no more Goth than he did. Was it the hostile smirk? The hint of pale cleavage? Or was he just an easier target because they'd seen him on TV?

"All we want is to live the way we choose," young Morticia ranted. "Why can't you just leave us alone? Why do you have to oppress us every chance we get, just because we're different?"

Superman frowned. He was feeling very tempted to take this girl on a little trip around the world and show her what _real_ oppression was. He had no doubt that there was enough unpleasantness in her life to make her feel the need to identify herself as something special, but a quick scan of what lay under that paper-white skin told him there was nothing _wrong_. No signs of abuse or neglect, no malnutrition, no injuries worse than a few bruises that he wouldn't have been surprised to see in any moderately active young person, and a few scars on her arms that seemed to be self-inflicted.

"Tell me more about this oppression," Superman said dryly.

And so she did.

--

"Superman?" Q said, holding back giggles. "What did you do to that girl?"

"All I did was ask her how she could consider herself a vampire if she didn't drink blood."

Q lost control of her giggles.

"Wow. I bet there aren't many people who can say they've gotten a _psychic_ vampire to _bite_ them."

Barbara snapped a picture of the retreating ambulance. Superman rubbed his neck self-consciously.

It wasn't as if he had _meant_ for the girl to jump on him and break her teeth on his impervious skin.

"Well?" he sighed. "Was it everything you dreamed and more?"

"Close enough. Let's get out of here, huh? There's nothing going on in the middle of the afternoon."


	5. Big Blue in the Alley

In spite of his commitment to what he was already beginning to suspect would be a stellar example of a wild goose chase, Superman was still keeping an eye out for real trouble. Sentient asteroids and pandimensional gods weren't going to stay away from his city just because he was looking for someone, and neither were the muggers.

He couldn't pass by a fracas in an ally without stopping to investigate, even with a photographer and a costumed criminal in tow. They joined him, only to find that this time, at least, Superman wasn't needed.

"Oh, my God!" Barbara squealed. "It's Black Lightning! _Black Lightning, you're my hero!_"

So much for ennui.

Superman summoned all his willpower and forced himself to follow the overeager photographer into the alley. He couldn't just let the girl go running off _alone_ in the Suicide Slum, even if he suspected she would be just as glad to let Clark fend for himself. She might not be the damsel type, but he couldn't, in all good conscience, leave her undefended.

Q followed.

He distinctly heard her mutter, "This ought to be good."

He found Barbara snapping photos of the bemused superhero, who, having dispatched the thugs in the alley, didn't seem to know what to do about his paparazzo.

"Hi," he greeted his fellow wearily. Black Lightning stared at him.

"She with you?"

"Guess so," he admitted. Black Lightning stared at him, obviously hoping for some indication of what to do about it. "I think she'd like a nice, dramatic shot of the hero riding off into the sunset," Superman suggested. Barbara nodded cheerfully.

"Right. Sure. I'll just…go." He sidled away from the photographer, watching her like an inexperienced cook with a pot of split pea soup that could boil over at any moment, and finally made himself scarce amidst the rapid-fire clicking and flashing of Barbara's camera.

Superman resisted the urge to put his hand over his eyes as Q started snickering. She was far too amused by his discomfort.

Barbara sighed with perfect rapture.

"That was the single most thrilling experience of my entire life."

Superman felt a finger prod him in the ribs. He frowned at Q, who was probably smirking at him.

"Watch out, Big Blue. You're posing."

"I…" He looked down at himself and winced. He did seem to be standing in a way that might have looked a tad more heroic than usual. If anyone had been pointing a camera at him, there would have been first-rate material on tomorrow's front page. And, to be fair, most cameras tended to point in his direction, not away.

He took a calming breath.

"Now that that's over, are you ready to take me to Lois?"

"That's what I'm trying to do, smeghead. I'm not the one who stopped to get pictures of the superhero."

He was starting to get just a little bit annoyed.

"I don't know if you noticed, but it wasn't my idea, either."

"You didn't have to follow her."

"Of course I did. I let her come with me. I'm responsible for her safety."

"Doofus, she chose to come here. Why shouldn't we mere mortals be responsible for our own actions? What do you think you are, Jesus?"

"I never said—"

"Bored with philosophy! Bored with debate. I want to go out and play."

"Play?" he repeated suspiciously.

"Well, by 'play' I obviously meant 'be completely serious and reward the Man of Steel as promised for keeping up his end of the deal and taking me to the club, even though he was dull as dirt the whole time.' Does that sound about right?"

"It _sounds_ like I would be better off taking you to jail and finding Lois on my own."

"But what would be the fun in that? Besides, how do you know she's not in some other dimension?"

He sighed.

"Well, _is_ she?"

"Nope. But she _could_ be."

"Just…just lead the way," he muttered. "Please."


	6. Big Weenie at the Gamblin' Hall

"Okay, Big Blue. Right in there." She pointed to a closed door. He tried to scan the room for traps.

"All right, why are the walls lined with lead?"

"Because it was built during the Cold War?" She motioned him toward the door. "Don't worry, it's perfectly safe."

Barbara raised her camera. Superman didn't find that very reassuring.

"Stand back, please." He flung open the door and dashed into the room at just under light speed, prepared to ward off an attack from any direction.

Then he stopped short. He had been expecting a good many things, but _not_ to be confronted by a couple dozen very elderly people with markers and sheets of paper, all led by one bespectacled old man on a stage, who was blinking at him like an owl.

The camera flashed.

Superman's jaw clenched.

"B…seven," the old man called in a quavering voice.

The room erupted into a frenzy of shuffling, stiff-jointed action as the Bingo players abandoned their scorecards and rushed him.

"It's Superman!"

"What's he doing here?"

"Look at that cape."

A papery hand patted his cheek.

"Aren't you a handsome young man? You remind me of my grandson."

"Oh. Thank you, ma'am." The old woman glared at him.

"He never visits."

Barbara took another picture. Q just stood there and laughed.

Knowing very he well that he wasn't going to find her, Superman looked around for Lois.

Not surprisingly, he didn't find her.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," he said to the group of elderly gawkers. One of the women gave him an unsettling toothless grin.

"Come around any time, young fella." And she patted his leg. His feet lost contact with the ground.

"Enjoy your game, ma'am." He darted for the exit.

Behind him, a general clamor broke out, dominated by a lone voice shouting, "Bingo!"

--

Once outside, Superman took the giggling miscreant by the arm, dragging her along just a bit more roughly than was strictly necessary. Barbara followed along, documenting the moment.

"What was _that_?" he demanded.

"That, Superman, was a bingo hall."

Click. Flash.

"I know it was a bingo hall, Q. I'm fully aware that it was a bingo hall. What I want to know is, why wasn't Lois there?"

He could hear her heart pounding, but her voice remained perfectly steady as she replied, "Maybe she's not a gamblin' man."

Click. Flash. He let go of her and put a hand to his temple, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache.

"Q!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, you big weenie. You think I was going to let you go without messing with you one more time? She's not far away, though. Right over there." His eyes followed her finger.

Oh, really?

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" He wasn't asking for confirmation; he _knew_ exactly what she was trying to lead him into. He only wanted to give her the option of making the right choice.

"Sure, I'm sure."

"Q," he said, "I know an abortion clinic when I see one."

She breathed carefully.

"On second thought, you're right. It's actually the one across the street." Barbara's heartbeat quickened suddenly as she tried to squelch her reaction. He took a peek through the wall.

"That's an adult toy store."

Q's shoulders sagged.

"Oh, great. He's smarter than he looks," she said to no one in particular. "I guess that means you won't be busting down the door of the First Baptist Church to beat a confession out of the ladies at the quilting bee." Barbara snickered.

"I wouldn't imagine so," Superman said evenly. "Would you like to try this again?"

"Oh, fine." Q pointed to the convention center just down the street.

Kryptonian physiology being what it was, Superman's blood pressure didn't actually spike the way a human being's might have at that moment. The deep, calming breath he took was mostly just for show.

"Q…" He took another calming breath when he heard her suppress a giggle. "I'm letting you lead me on this _obvious_ wild goose chase because you gave me your word that Lois was unharmed. I know you're enjoying wasting my time, but do you really expect me to believe that your secret base of operations is sharing space with a Star Trek convention?"

"Okay, okay," said Q. "We can really find them at the convention. It's the perfect place to hide. Everyone in costume, no one knows they've been infiltrated."

"And Lois?"

"Oh, come on, Supes!" The irritation came through loud and clear even through the scrambler. "I told you we didn't hurt her. She's cool. We don't hurt the people we like. What do you think we are?"

He didn't bother to answer that. It was obvious what they were, or at least what _she_ was. A thrillseeking criminal, not wholly bad, with a capacity for mischief more than true evil. She obviously couldn't be trusted, but there was a slim chance that she could be redeemed.

"What's the catch?" he asked. She cocked her head to the left. "You must have something nasty lined up."

"Well…" She laughed, a little nervously. "I _was_ hoping I could get you into a costume."

He glared at her, drawing on everything he'd ever learned from Batman.

"I'm _wearing_ a costume."

As far as he could tell, Q wasn't very impressed.

"You wouldn't last ten minutes in Mos Eisley."

"All right, Q," he said reluctantly. "What kind of costume do you want me to wear?"

Q giggled. This time, the note of sadism was all too clear.


	7. Spitcurl at the Con

The costume didn't seem so very bad. It left him covered from head to toe. There was nothing he would have found embarrassing about the stark white, gleaming armor. It didn't even leave any clues to his true identity.

He couldn't imagine why Q and Barbara both seemed to find it so amusing.

At least, not until they got inside.

The overwhelming hum of a dozen conversations trickled off into silence. Hundreds of eyes focused on him all at once. Human eyes and alien eyes. Eyes in faces and eyes in rubber masks.

And not a single mask looked anything like his. He turned to scowl at Q, not that she could see his face.

"I'm wearing the wrong costume, aren't I?"

Q giggled. Barbara snapped a picture.

"Why are you doing this?" he muttered. Q shrugged.

"Did you honestly not know better than to confront a bunch of Trekkies dressed as a stormtrooper?"

"A what?"

Q growled at him.

"What are you, retarded? Don't you even _watch_ TV?" She threw up her arms and stalked away. "I give up. I'm done here. You're completely useless."

"Wait a minute! What about Lois?"

"Look around, Superdork. She won't be too hard to find."

He did his best to suppress his irritation. What had been the point of all that, if she was just going to leave him alone?

"Do you see her?" asked Barbara.

All right, maybe not _alone_.

"Aren't you going with the fun one?" he asked. Barbara glanced outside at Q, who was sulkily kicking at a broken chunk of the sidewalk.

"Nah. When I start a story, I finish it. Besides, I want to be here when the Trekkies start throwing things." She held up her camera and smiled.

Superman turned his eyes to the walls and made quick work of peering through them. He didn't spot Lois, but he did see a couple of lead-lined suits like Q's.

"Straight ahead and up the stairs."

Barbara grinned and gestured for him to go ahead. He took a single step forward, and the eerily silent geeks burst into a flurry of action.

"What do you think you're doing here, Jar Jar?"

"Go back to a galaxy far, far away!"

Someone threw a bobblehead. Click. Flash. Superman turned to frown at Barbara, and noticed Q peering in through the glass. He waved. She ducked out of sight.

Someone shouted, "Darth Vader is a pansy!"

Others took up the chant.

"Vader's a pansy! Vader's a pansy! Vader's a pansy!"

He made his way through the crowd without a word, head held high, ignoring the taunts that didn't mean anything to him, anyway.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here." More plastic toys flew at him from every angle. He let them bounce off his white plastic armor. Barbara followed, unmolested—he had to assume that the triangle she had pinned to her shirt was what granted her the immunity.

"Kirk could kick Luke Skywalker's ass any day of the week!"

Barbara put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you want to shut them up?" she asked. "Show them you're not the enemy. Give your support to Captain Picard." He hesitated. Why was she being helpful? "Look, I'm embarrassed enough to be seen with you as it is. I don't want to get lynched just because _you're_ a dork."

All right. He drew on his vague memories of Patrick Stewart—he might not know much about Star Trek, but he did know that much.

"Captain Picard was unbeatable," he said brightly.

"What?" someone screeched. "You're not allowed to say that, Qui-Gon! Kirk was the _first_!"

"Hey, lay off. At least Picard faced some _actual_ threats," someone else said defensively.

"_Picard_ failed his entrance exams! That flouncy tea drinker was _nothing_ next to a real captain!"

Looking angry, Barbara raised a fist, clearly about to object. Superman grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along after him before she could draw the Trekkies' attention back to them.

"Q's right," Barbara said when they were safe in the stairwell. "You're useless."

"Thank you so much for your support," he said dryly. She started to raise her camera. "If you want to keep that thing, you'll put it right back down."

"What ever happened to freedom of the press?" She smiled. He didn't smile back. "Oh, don't blame _me,_ spitcurl. I've been waiting all day for you to fight someone. Throw a punch, use your heat vision, give me _some_ kind of action shot! 'Superman's Day Out' doesn't make for an exciting story. Why do you think people like to see Vienna Purcell's underwear, and not her grocery shopping?"

Vienna Purcell? That brought back memories. The one and only time Batman had ever abused the League emergency line had been when Bruce Wayne was dating that empty-headed socialite and got desperate for a way out.

"Now, you _know_ Vienna Purcell doesn't do her own grocery shopping." Surprised, Barbara giggled. Superman pushed open the door while she was too off-guard to play shutterbug.

By this time, he wasn't exactly _surprised_ to be finding himself face to face with two elves, a wizard, and some sort of rabbit in shining armor. Nor was he particularly surprised not to find Lois in the room.

One of the elves pointed a plastic wand at him.

"I cast fireballs at the intruder!"

"This isn't part of the dungeon, idiot," the rabbit warrior muttered.

One of the Qs pointed at him and chirped, "I shoot magic into the darkness!"

He looked to Barbara for guidance. She just shrugged.

"I'm not _that_ geeky."

"It's about time you got here," said one of the two criminals. "What happened to Number One? Did you ditch her? You didn't _kill_ her, did you?"

"He's Superman," said the other. "He doesn't _kill_ anyone."

"Still, she was supposed to bring him here. I don't like it when things go wrong."

"Your friend 'ditched' _me_," Superman offered. "_I_ wouldn't hold someone hostage for my own amusement." He couldn't tell if they had the grace to look ashamed, but the LARPers certainly looked confused. "Uh…maybe the three of us should discuss this somewhere else."

"Three? You're not leaving me now, you know," said Barbara. The lead-suited women looked to Superman for an indication of how this was going to go. He didn't even bother to make an argument.

"As long as you don't kill anyone, I don't care what you do."

The one on the left brought her hands up to the general vicinity of her mouth.

"I don't believe it! Q _broke_ him! What did it? Was it the dog show? The Little Miss Metropolis Pageant? Did he accidentally beat up any little girls?" Barbara giggled nervously.

"Wow…you had a _lot_ planned, didn't you? That's, um…I mean, I hate to say it, but this is kind of _mean_."

"Oh, get over it, fleshie. We're not hurting anyone."

"Oh, yeah? What about Ms. Lane? Blue Boy's been playing it your way, taking your word that she's okay, but we haven't _seen_ her, have we? I kind of like that psycho Superman fangirl. If it turns out she's been dead all this time, I'm going to be pretty pissed off."

"She's fine," said the slender one on the right. "I promise."

"We've had enough of your promises. We want proof."

"Damn pushy reporters," muttered Q Number Two. "Is everyone at the _Planet_ like this? Fine. God. We'll take you to Lois, already."

Barbara grinned up at Superman.

"See, I'm useful! And you didn't want me to come."

"Very good." He took off his helmet and tossed it to the rabbit-eared warrior. No way was he going through that crowd downstairs in the wrong costume twice.

The LARPers squealed like giddy schoolgirls as the body armor followed.

"It really _is_ Superman!"

Q Number Three draped his arm over her shoulders.

"That sounds like our cue to leave."

* * *

_Some dialogue borrowed without permission from Jade-Rust._

_Random note: the guy using the computer across from me is wearing a wicker fedora._


	8. Smallville on TiVo

He didn't need to be able to look through the wall to know that they were lying. He could hear the music.

"This is a strip club, isn't it?"

"Well…yes," said Q Number One. "But Lois really is here."

"Why would Lois be at a strip club?" Q Number Three laughed.

"Same reason as anyone else."

He listened for the sound of sirens. There were no nearby emergencies that the police and fire department couldn't handle without him. Darn it.

"All right, I'm going in. But this is the _last_ time." The Qs saluted. Barbara readied her camera.

He opened the door, and quickly slammed it shut again.

There was a _man_ dancing on that pole. A man in a batcape.

A man in a batcape and nothing else. Barbara pressed both hands to her mouth, smothering horrified giggles.

"Wow!" said Q Number Two. "Remind me to get that guy's contact information."

"Sorry," Q Number One laughed. "I—honestly—forgot it was Superhero Night. Don't go in there, Big Blue. They'll tear you apart."

"I realize that, thank you." She shrank back a little from his glare. "Could we put an end to this?"

"Okay. Just…one thing. We had a grand finale all lined up, and I still want to do it. Can we? Please?"

"You'll enjoy it," added Q Number Two. Number Three nodded.

"So will Lois."

"Is that so?"

"Trust me. She would want you to do this."

He sighed.

"What do you want me to do?"

--

Superman and Number One went off to do their thing, with Barbara and her camera documenting it from the minimum safe distance. Two and Three waited on a nearby rooftop.

They didn't mind. They knew what was going to happen, and Barbara's wasn't the only news camera that was going to pick this up. They could get the whole show later.

In fact, Q Number Two had already set the TiVo.

They could tell by the screaming when the deed was done. Superman and Number One landed on the roof to find that Two and Three had collapsed, laughing too hard to stand. Q Number One was in much the same state. When Superman let her go, she doubled over, clutching a pair of charcoal slacks to her chest.

"You people are _insane_," he said in a voice utterly devoid of humor. He disappeared from view, and returned a moment later with Barbara.

"That was _nuts,_" she cheered. "We've got to do this more often!"

"How did it go?" asked Q Number Two.

"Do you really have to ask?" Number One waved the pants at her friend. "I got him! Live press conference, national television, and Faster-Than-A-Speeding-Bullet here flew me in _right_ after he gave the line about full disclosure. I stole Lex Luthor's _pants_!"

"You know," said Barbara, "you were probably going too fast to see, but the big guy…" She snickered.

"What?"

"Oh!" said Number Two. "Oh, God. Boxers or briefs?" Cackling, Barbara shook her head.

"Neither!"

"_Thong_? Oh, tell me it was leopard print!"

"No. Think…uh…_less_." Everyone went rather quiet. Barbara blushed. "The carpet…matches the drapes."

Number One tackled her.

"Did you get pictures? I want there to be pictures!"

"Ow. Of course I got pictures. Get off. Your suit is _heavy_."

Q Number Three stared at him with her hands on her hips.

"You're laughing!"

"I…" He tried to eradicate the smile on his face.

"Admit it. You've always wanted to do this."

"Maybe. Haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but—" She hesitated. "You know, don't you?"

"I figured it out." He glanced at Barbara, and smirked. "It might have taken me longer if you hadn't known who I was before I took off the helmet. It wouldn't have been that easy if I hadn't been escorted by _her_, would it?"

Barbara raised her camera, then lowered it without taking a picture.

"That doesn't prove anything. It's not like anyone else would _purposely_ dress as a stormtrooper and walk through a crowd of caffeinated Trekkies just to get to a LARP that was already in progress." Then she took a picture and ran for the stairs while he should have been blinking from the flash.

He cut her off before she could make it three steps.

"Oh, no. You're not getting off the hook that easy, Q."

"Well…I…okay, so I'm with them. I guess this means the fun's over, right?"

"Oh, I'd say so."

"Don't be too hard on them," said Q Number Three. He glared at her sternly.

"I think _you're_ the one who ought to be in trouble. Next time someone kidnaps you, I should let you find your own way out."

She took off her helmet and shook out her long, dark hair.

"Come on, Smallville, it was just a harmless prank. And we got a great story out of it."

"Lois."

"I'll share the byline," she teased.

"You're impossible. Are you really all right?"

"Perfectly. We told you I was. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get the official interview. 'Lex Luthor Laid Bare'—too lurid, do you think?"

"Slightly." He turned his attention back to Barbara. She blushed.

"I'll go ahead and turn in my two weeks' notice. 'Kay?"

He stared at her. She fidgeted.

In the quiet, he heard Number One explain, "It's spelled with _one_ Q."

"Okay, I won't publish any of the embarrassing photos." She thought for a moment. "I'm keeping the negatives, though."

"Why are you here?"

"What, in Metropolis? We can't show our faces in Gotham anymore, so we figured, why not?"

"You made someone mad? Fancy that. But what I mean is, why pose as a reporter?" She looked offended at that.

"Hey, the work I submitted with my resume was all my own. I really was a student journalist once, and I only applied to work at the _Planet_ because I miss the old days. Chasing a story is even more fun than chasing _you_."

"Was it fun for you?" he grumbled.

"I figured out who you were my first day on the job. Your disguise is a pair of glasses—speaking of which, I normally wear a pair myself, so try not to be too confused if we ever meet again. And, Clark, I saw you change clothes in a phone booth. If that's not begging to get caught, I don't know what is. You're obviously a guy who needs to learn to think outside the box."

He crossed his arms in a quintessentially Superman In Disapproval pose.

"Are you finished?" he asked evenly.

"Just about. All I'm trying to tell you here is that we never…I mean, we never had any plans to hurt her. But _you_ didn't know that, and you still treated my friends decently. I appreciate that. It's…nice to know that there are people like you in the world. You know, heroes." She shuffled about uncomfortably, staring at her feet.

Superman felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You _like_ me." Normally, he wouldn't have put it so baldly, like a grade school boy just learning that the fear of cooties was not universal, but it had been a long day, and he was perversely happy to make someone else's face go red for a change.

"N—not on purpose," she stammered.

"No, of course not. What kind of supervillain would you be if you _wanted_ to like Superman?" She fidgeted a little more.

"My father always admired you. You're a good man. It would be—it _is_ easy to think of you as Mr. Stupid. But…you're good. You're one of the only really good people I've ever met. You're something the world needs more of, naiveté and all." She glared at her as if daring him to laugh at her admission of unvillainly weakness.

"That's good to hear, even if you are just saying it to stay out of prison." Barbara flinched, startled into meeting his eyes for the first time. An expression of gratitude flashed across her face before she changed it into a smirk.

"Did it work?"

"I'd rather see you working for the paper than making mischief in my city, but you haven't actually committed any crimes…that I know of." Barbara giggled nervously. "I have to leave you to make your own choices, don't I? I just hope they'll be the right ones."

"That's so…" She hesitated. "Gee, thanks, Ward." Superman smiled.

"A—"

"Call me Beaver, and I _will_ find a way to hurt you," Barbara interrupted.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Reilly," he said guilelessly.

"Well…good. So I guess I'll see you around, Supes."

"Oh, yes. I'll definitely be keeping an eye on you and your friends. You're free to go. But, Barbara?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ever do it again."

She grinned.

"I wouldn't dream of it."


End file.
